You Can Put Me In Prison
by Twisted Biscuit
Summary: Whilst still abiding in Azkban Prison, Stan Shunpike reflects on life, love, and the perils of blackmarket wristwatches...


**Author's Note:** I'd like to apologise in advance for my grossly substandard attempt at Stan Shunpike's whimsical accent. I had another version somewhere that was free of all pitiful attempts at Cockney inflections, but it somehow didn't read as… well, Stan. And so I stuck with this abomination. I can only apologise once again. Incidentally, this story came as a result of the title, which is the title of a Country Western song. No, I'm not making that up.

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**You Can Put Me In Prison (But You Can't Stop My Face From Breakin' Out)**

**-**

"I ain't ever been what you'd call an 'ard worker, really.

I was never one of those brainy sorts neither.

An' I bloody well wozn't ambitious or sneaky or nothin'- maybe if I 'ad been then I wouldn't be in this mess. All of these qualities, or I s'ppose these lack of qualities, led to' my ole man sayin' that the on'y reason I got put into' Gryffindor was coz the other Houses didn't want me. My ole man used to say a lot o' stuff like that. To' tell you the truth, most of it was rubbish. I think even he'd admit that. But one fing he said to' me has always rung true, and that was simply: '_Stanley, m'boy, never trust a copper. Most of em's crooked as a boxer's nose, and them that ain't would nick their own mother's for parkin' in the wrong spot._'

Yer. He might've been talkin' out his arse most o' the time, but my ole man hit that one right on the 'ead, didn't he? Ain't truer words ever been spoken than them words right there. I mean, most coppers don't give two' knuts if you're breakin' the law. Don't make no difference to them, see. But if they think they can profit from it, then it's a diffren' story, innit? If it gets em what they want or it makes em look good, then there ain't no power on this Earth that'll stop em makin' a nick.

I know, I know. Aurors don't really count as coppers. But they're the pretty much the same thing. 'Cept no copper ever 'ad access to truth potions did they? No sir, they did not. Just you imagine, if you will, how overcrowded our prisons would be if the Old Bill was druggin' people up with that extra strength truth-potion, whatever it's called. That's a slap in the face, innit? But there's worse than that, ain't there? There always is worse these days, after all. Know what's worse that a copper using truth serum on you when you've done somethin' an eensy bit off the straight and narrow?

A copper who don't use it on you when you ain't done nothin' wrong.

Like me. I ain't done nothin' wrong, an' I tried to tell em as much. I told em to fill me up to me bleedin' eyeballs with that truth serum stuff o' theirs. I told em to get Dumbledore or whoever else they felt like to come an' have a butchers at my innermost thoughts. But did they? No they bloody well did not! And do you know why not? Because they knew, just as well as I did, that I hadn't done nothin'.

They knew an' they didn't give a monkey's. Coz it got em what they wanted, didn't it? It made em look good to the papers, which made em look good to the public, which means their nice office an' their expensive holidays won't be under threat anymore. That's all they really care about, you know: Themselves, they're posh lifestyles.

None o' these gits ever grew up in a tower block; none o' these gits ever saved-up, jus' to move into the poxy little basement room under the Hog's Head; none o' these gits ever had to work the nightshift for eight months in a row, jus' so's that they could pay back everyone they'd ever lent money off. Nah, they never had to worry about that stuff. They had different lives to the rest o' us. Their idea o' hardship is not gettin' tickets to Centre Court at Wimbledon. Bloody toffs - they've never cared for nowt but themselves.

_Never trust a copper_, my ole man said. An' weren't it the bloody truth?

It ain't like it's just the Aurors though, is it? I mean maybe if it were jus' them then the rest o' us would all rise up against em or some-fink. But it's a load o' others in all. All them middle class sorts who go to work from nine to five, an' have season tickets to watch Puddlemere United. They all let it happen. No, actually, when I think on it, they're the reason it happens. If it weren't for them, consistently ignorin' the problems right outside their door, then the coppers and the Aurors would never get away with half the stuff they get away with.

But see, no one wants to draw attention to themselves, do they? They don't wanna be the ones that're woke up in the middle o' the night by some berk with a warrant and a trigger-happy hand that's twitchin' to let off a good curse or two. So they play along, don't they? Pretend they ain't seen nothin' suspicious, even when they was up half the night watchin' the Plod give their neighbours a kick-in for no good reason.

I know why they do it, mind. I'd've done it meself if I could've. Just keep me nose out o' other people's business, an' hope no one comes lookin' for me in the middle o' the night. 'Course, it didn't work out that way for me, did it? An' it weren't no over-eager copper or trigger-happy Auror that did me in. Nah, it was one of em gits with the season tickets an' an overdeveloped sense o' civic duty what did me in. Roddy Pontner was 'is name, if I remember rightly. That's the name the Aurors gave me when they turned up at four o'clock in the mornin' anyway. They said Roddy Pontner had seen me up to no good, an' that I was goin' in for questioning.

'Course I knew I was done for right there.

See it's the downside o' livin' underneath the Hog's Head. You ever want to go home for the night, you gotta walk through the pub. An' sometimes… well, lets jus' say that these ain't the sort o' characters that you want to be running into after they've had a few, if you know what I mean. From time to time they'd stop me when I was halfway across a room, an' start hassling me or offering to sell me things. Things that no decent human being would ever buy, mind.

Like this one time when Amycus Carrow offered to sell me a watch. Thinking that maybe this would be my opportunity to make em lay off for a while, I said, 'Yeah, all right, I could use a new un'. So while his mates start sniggerin', he reaches into his cloak and yanks out the watch. Still attached to the wrist of the poor bugger he'd killed for it. Now I think I deserve some sort o' praise for not throwin' a complete wobbler and runnin' for me life, but you can bet your life that no one's ever going to give it to me. I took the watch off him without flinchin' an' I paid him his money. An' then I told him upfront that he was a messed-up little tosser and that I hoped he got trampled by Hippogriffs in the near future. I probably would've been flattened right there, but ole' Aberforth called em off. I might've been imaginin' things, but I think he gave me a nod o' approval, in all.

Apparently this bloke Roddy Pontner saw me on one of these happy occasions, an' he reported it to the Aurors. The Aurors turned up in the middle o' the night, and caught me in me nowt but me kecks to take me in for questioning. A smarter man than I would've tried to scarper, but it's one o' the downsides o' livin' in a basement - there ain't exactly an overabundance o' exits.

Ole' Aberforth put up a bit o' a fight for me. Said I ain't done nothin' wrong an' that they was jus' abusing their power. They paid him no mind though, the gits.

Took me in, didn't they? Tossed me in the darkest, dankest most horrific dungeon they could find at the Ministry before sendin' be off to Azkaban. Only people I saw in there was the Aurors. Most of em treated me like dirt. The only ones that didn't were that Shacklebolt feller and that girl with the pink hair. She was the best. Shacklebolt told me that it was a miscarriage o' justice an' that he'd never been more ashamed o' the Ministry in his life. That's all well an' good, but it didn't exactly help me none, did it? The girl was much better. She slipped me a takeaway curry.

She forgot the poppadoms, like, but a bloke can't be too fussy in these situations, you know?

It was a big surprise when they came an' told me I was guilty. No one was exactly clear on what I was guilty of, but they were bloody sure I was guilty of it. Me an' two other blokes who were deemed "guilty" was bundled off to Azkaban lickety-split.

I s'ppose I should be grateful that the Dementors had already left the place by the time I got here. Still, it's a bit hard bein' grateful about anythin' when you're rotting away in some poxy little cell that ain't even big enough to lie down in with your arms stretch above your head. 'Specially not when the wind is howlin' outside an' your only beddin' is some scratchy scrap o' blanket that I wouldn't wrap a cadaver in.

This place makes you think, y'know. Makes you think about all the things you'd do differently if you could. An' I'm not talkin' about things like "_I should've decked the Auror on the left, nicked his wand and legged it outside where I coulda Apparated someplace safe_", though I must admit that one's been niggling at me a bit since I was taken in. Nah, the things that really bother you, the things that keep you up at night when all you want to do is close your eyes so that maybe you don't have to look at your bloody cell for another minute, are the things you would've done differently while you were free.

For starters, I would've actually listened when old Professor McGonagall was talkin'. I would've done my Charms homework and I would've pretended to care about constellations and stars and rubbish like that. I would've worked hard at school. 'Cept in Potions, where I would've told that git Snape to go stick his head in one o' his precious cauldrons, just because I think someone should've said it to him at some point and god-knows, I wish it'd been me.

I would've said yes when Stacie Brocklehurst asked me to Hogsmeade. I mean, yer, she was a bit o' a munter back then, but she got loads prettier. An' even if she hadn't, she would've been good company an' a good laugh. I might even o' got off with her, unlike that ice queen I ended up followin' around for two years. I don't even remember what _her_ bleedin' name woz, that's how important she was to me. Stacie was at least a nice enough girl, an' she knew about Quidditch. What more do you want, really?

I would've used the money I saved up to move under the Hog's Head to buy me mum a nice little bungalow in the country, and just taken over the rent in the tower block. I would've gone by to see her every week, in all. As it woz, the last time I saw me own mother was four months ago. Four months. She probably only heard that her eldest son was in prison when it was reported in the newspapers. It's a disgrace, is what it is. And to make things worse, it's my own doing.

I would've got Ern a really nice gift for his ninetieth birthday, rather than that 'orrible watch I bought off Carrow, which I only gave him because I couldn't bear to look at it meself. An' I would've been nicer to the customers, if I'd known what a rough time of it we'd all be in for.

An' I would've been 'specially nice to Neville. I mean 'Arry Potter. Him, anyway.

He's got it worse than the rest o' us, y'know. They all thought he was out o' his gourd, that one. Even I did. He went from bein' a hero to bein' a loony people made fun of on the street, in less time than it takes to make a Pot Noodle. Then, all o' a sudden, he wozn't nuts anymore. Not only was he not nuts, but he was also the "Chosen One" or some such bobbins. I tried to think how I would've been if people had acted that way about me when I was his age. I mean apart from making bloody sure that Ice Queen I mentioned would've gone out with me. Would I have done better than him? Would I have ended up blowin' up me Aunt at thirteen and runnin' off to London? No, I wouldn't of. Mainly coz I would've thrown me wand in the Thames and become a devout muggle the minute someone told me that there was some invincible, evil barmpot after me.

If I had me time over, I would've been nicer to Neville. I would've made sure I didn't spill Hot Chocolate on him or nothin'. Just coz he deserved at least one good night.

But do you wanna know what my main regret is? What it is that makes me stay up at night, sending dirty looks at my ceiling and swearin' to meself in the dark?

It's those ruddy Death Eaters. Those nasty pieces o' work in the Hog's Head who sold me some poor bloke's left limb.

If I had my time over again, I wouldn't've just insulted them. Nah, if I had me time over again, I would've smashed their heads in with a barstool. It sounds a bit mental, but it's what I would've done. An' not because I think it would get me in good with them Auror sorts or nothin'. I would've done it, because it's what I wanted to do at the time an' I didn't. I don't know if it's coz I was scared, or coz I thought that maybe I'd get them later without realising that maybe I wouldn't have a later. Whatever the reason, I didn't do what every part o' me was yellin' at me to do: I didn't try to stop the bastards.

An' that's what eats at me, see?

Because they think they can get away with it. Gordon Bennett, they _can_ get away with it! That's the tragedy, see? They think they can treat us like dirt. They think they can push us, and push us, and they think they'll never get shoved back. Who's goin' to argue with em? The Aurors, who can't do bugger all without their crooked boss's approval? The muggle coppers, who couldn't do anything if they tried? The Puddlemere United season ticket-holders, who are too scared to do anythin' even when it's their own government, a group o' people they elect and pay for, who's acting out of order? Nah. No one's goin' to argue with em, or so they think. So why shouldn't they kill some poor sod, hack off his hand, and wave it around in someone's face just to prove their point? Why shouldn't they?

My biggest regret is not showing em exactly why they shouldn't. Coz now that I'm not there, I don't know if anyone else ever will. That's my biggest regret, an' that's the thought that kept me up for near a hundred nights in a row since I came to Azkaban. After the hundredth night though, I made myself a promise.

I promised myself that if I ever get out o' here, I'm going to do all the things I said I would've done.

I promised myself that I was goin' to take those Kwikspell courses that let you do your OWLs and NEWTs over again. I was goin' to get a good job. I'm going to buy my ole' mum a bungalow in the country. I was goin' to find me a nice, pleasant girl an' I was goin' to get off with her. I was goin' to hunt down Harry Potter an' give him that mug o' steamin' Hot Chocolate. An', most importantly, I was never ever goin' to by a bystander when some big, bullyin' son o' a bitch tried to throw his weight around.

It were that promise what landed me in this mess, you see.

When You-Know-Who's lot came to Azkaban to get their own people out, they gave the rest o' us a chance too. "_Follow our Lord,_" they said. "_An' you'll never have to worry about being on the wrong side o' the law again!_"

So, for reasons that escape me at the moment, I shouted out, "_Yer! Coz if you ever get on the wrong side of laws their Lord sets down for you, you'll be so busy bein' tortured to death that you won't have no time to worry about it!_"

The whole place went dead silent, dead quick. That woman, the one they're all afraid o', Trixabell LeWeird or whatever her name is, came up to my cell. She gave me an whole speech on the glory of her lord, an' the changing of the world order, an' how I'd do best to take her lord's generous offer of allegiance despite my "highly undesirable family history". She spent ages talkin', so long that I don't even really think she was talkin' to me so much as the entire inmate population. A rousing speech for her supporters, like the speeches that funny bloke with the moustache used to give the Nazis. It was unbelievable how passionate she was about the whole thing.

That's why I think she was surprised really. Why I think she didn't expect my only response to be "_Why don't you bike it, you ole bag?_"

That's also why I'm lyin' here, bruised an' bleedin' with my shoulder at a funny angle, feelin' like Ern came after me when I was hungover and run me under his wheels a couple o' times. That's why I'm seriously wondering my promise to myself, an' the good sense behind it.

I s'ppose I can wonder about it all I like. A promise is a promise, an' a good Gryffindor never breaks a promise, even if it's only one he's made to himself.

As I'm lyin' here though, I wonder about somethin' else. I wonder if my ole man ever really knew what he was talkin' about. He said _never trust a copper,_ an' that was definitely the truth. But he said that I wozn't really Gryffindor material as well, an' I don't think that's quite true.

See because only a Gryffindor, a true, honest-to-goodness Gryffindor, could possibly be as cocky, mental and bloody stupid as I just woz."

- _The personal account of Stanley Norman Shunpike. On the third of January, 1999, Mr. Shunpike was awarded an Order of Merlin, Second Class, for the suffering he endured as a result of a blatant miscarriage of justice. He is renowned for being the first person in history to respond to this honour with the phrase "Shove it up yer ----, you bunch o' ----ers!"_


End file.
